Heart to Heart – Rita Dove
Sugar maples, little fires in the trees, every blazing gradation
of orange to red, and this makes me think of you, the way
you press the long length of your body against me, the heat
seeping through flannel, my own private furnace.
While the Backwoods Burned – Andrea Jurjevic
Stories? I prefer what fits in two-or-three words, like not being scared.
Today nothing rhymes.